If You'll Be Mine
by general73
Summary: A Valentine's Day special for Johnlock. So the title is a little misleading. Nothing physical between Sherly and John. One shot. Reviews please? :)


**A/N: So I'm posting. lol Well, this is a 221B: Valentine's Day Edition. I hope you all enjoy it; I wrote it on the 14th, but I edited it when I typed it up. So sorry if there are typos.**

**Please review!**

**Happy (late) Valentine's Day! :D**

* * *

"I'm going on a date with Sarah tonight," John announced to Sherlock as he made his tea.

There was a bored-sounding, "Why on earth, John," which drew the doctor into the other room. The sight that met John's eyes then was so familiar to him that he could describe it in detail with his eyes closed. Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa in his dressing gown, two nicotine patches on his inner left forearm like leeches.

With a shrug, John replied casually, "I dunno, Sherlock. Maybe I want to. Hell, maybe I _like_ her." He took a drink of his tea, determined not to let Sherlock upset him. So he grinned for good measure.

Sherlock snorted. "That's absurd, John. She's not even that clever, and she's so... clingy."

Sighing, John shook his head, his resolve to remain unperturbed weakening at this insult for Sarah. "My God, Sherlock, has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to spend my life watching you waste yours?"

"That statement is so fallacious that I refuse to acknowledge it," Sherlock said irritably. "But Sarah? Tonight? Can't you just get take out here?"

"Because, Sherlock," John informed him exasperatedly, "it's Valentine's Day. You _do_ know what that is, right?"

"Oh, it's that ridiculous holiday made up to give couples an excuse to have sex," Sherlock answered in disdain.

"Wrong, Sherlock. It's a day to take your significant other out to dinner and to remember the people you love. Not to have sex."

"That's what you were planning on though, wasn't it, John?" Sherlock stated coolly.

Feeling his face grow warm and his anger rise, John clenched his fists at his sides. "No, it's not."

Sherlock snorted and shifted his position. "Yes, it is. The shower, that shirt, those pants, that cologne. After dinner, you're hoping to head over to Sarah's place for a grand Valentine's Day finale."

Dammit, why did he always know? If it were anyone else, John could have laughed it off and turned it around. But Sherlock, asexual and bored, could deduce whether John was going to meet Sarah after work or not at a glance. With no shame or discretion.

"Why does it always upset you when I say something you already know? I tolerate it when you do it."

Clearly Sherlock had no sense of timing. And refused to acquire it.

"Okay," John said softly after a pause. "Okay. You can never just leave it. I get that. So I'm going to go now, because Sarah's expecting me. Good night, Sherlock."

Without another word to or glance at the irksome detective wallowing in the couch, John set his tea mug on the table, grabbed his jacket, and stalked out the door.

"You're just angry that you're so readable!" Sherlock shouted before the door closed.

John hurried down the stairs two at a time, pulling on his jacket as he went. Sherlock was an arse, and they both knew it, but that didn't make John any kinder just then.

"Evening, Mrs. Hudson," he said amiably as he passed her at the door with groceries.

"Good evening, John," she replied.

At the curb, John waved down a cab. Once he had seated himself in the backseat, he began to think logically about what had transpired just minutes before with Sherlock. Come to think of it, in fact, John realized that the only reason for Sherlock's rudeness was jealousy. Not that John had a date, jealous of Sarah because John left him to spend time with her. With the inception of this new theory, John's anger melted into a pool of regret. He regretted having replied so harshly to Sherlock, but the idiot couldn't expect to be an arse and have John be kind in return, even if he did feel sorry for it later. Maybe he'd make it up to his flat mate... And the idea struck John as the cabbie stopped in front of he restaurant where he was meeting Sarah.

* * *

"Hey! You look great! You look... _really_ great."

"Thanks, John. I must say you're looking pretty good yourself."

"How are you? I haven't seen you in forever with your absurd nightshift. What made you decide to take that anyway?"

"No, no, I've been really well. It's a weird schedule, of course, but I'm adapting well." Sarah paused for a few seconds before answering his question. "You know, John, I made the decision partly because of you. Just-Just hear me out," she added when John opened his mouth to interject. "I like you, John, and working with you is great, but I feel as though you aren't able to focus on your work as well when I'm there. Like I'm distracting you. You understand I'm saying this to my boyfriend, not to my employee. I don't want to mess up your place at the surgery.

When she saw the look on his face, she laughed. "You asked! So how are _you_?"

John smiled too. "I'm pretty well too, Sarah, especially now that I'm here with you tonight." Leaning across the table, he kissed her.

Their waiter brought them twin red candles for the center of their table along with their drinks.

"Enjoy, and I'll be back shortly with your entrees."

As he walked away, John found himself trying to deduce things about the guy. His expensive shoes were well-worn, which probably meant he worked long hours. There was also an unevenness about his teeth that suggested a pipe. Curious habit those days. Cigarettes and nicotine patches were the rage then. Thinking of nicotine patches reminded John of Sherlock. Oh, Sherlock.

"Hello! John! Are you in there?"

John snapped back to his date at the sound of Sarah's voice. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"Deep thought is usually signifies intelligence."

"You're too nice," John replied, and leaning across the table, he kissed her again.

Their lips were still locked when their waiter-Simon he'd said his name was-returned with their meals. Sarah and John broke apart then and thanked Simon.

"My pleasure. Enjoy your meal."

* * *

During a lapse in their dinner conversation, John said suddenly, "Hey, Sarah, I just remembered an important phone call I have to make. I won't be two minutes. D'you mind?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Go right ahead."

He rose, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he turned and walked outside, leaving Sarah disappointed.

Returning a couple of minutes later, John's mind buzzed with thoughts of Sherlock and his idea of John's evening plans with Sarah. If his stupid flat mate assumed that John planned on sex, John would disappoint Sherlock by proving him wrong. It was the last thing in the world that the detective would expect.

"Welcome back," said Sarah when he sat down, and he leaned over to kiss her.

* * *

Sherlock sprawled on the sofa, pissed off and unable to do anything about it. Why was John always so asinine about the stereotypical as well as his usual signs of planning on sex? There was no big secret. John always chose the worst nights to leave. Like that night, for example, when Sherlock was bored nearly out of his mind without a case and wanted John there to annoy with his silence and horrible habits. Oh, John. The only man who'd ever tolerated Sherlock. That was probably only pity anyways. Stupid effing John. Always a distraction, worse than ever now that this case-or string of cases more like-from Moriarty were on-air and dead ended.

Just then there came a knock on the door, and Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Sherlock, there's a man here with a delivery, Lord knows who sent it."

As she disappeared, Sherlock rolled off the sofa. He met the guy at the door to the flat.

"Good evening, I have a delivery for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"That is I. Please, come in and put it on the table by the sofa," Sherlock instructed, baffled.

The guy did as the detective asked, then turned to leave. "Have a good evening, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you," Sherlock replied distantly as the door closed and the man's footsteps could be heard on the stairs.

Left alone with his 'delivery,' Sherlock examined it without touching it. "Moriarty," he muttered and began to pace in front of the table in agitation.

* * *

"Thank you so much for dinner, John, I really had a lovely evening," Sarah told him as they stood outside the restaurant, preparing their goodbyes.

"Thank _you_ for letting me take you to dinner. It was such a pleasure._ You_ are a pleasure."

Sarah smiled. "Hey, you could come over to my place this evening if you want."

"Ah, I'd love to, but I am dog tired," John answered her.

"So is that a no?"

"Look, you have your new night schedule now, so you're neither tired nor resting up for a ten hour shift tomorrow. _I_ am both, which means as much as I want to stay the night with you. I really won't be any fun."

"Oh, fine," she laughed. "You're right. Okay. Good night, John, thanks again for dinner, as well as the flowers and chocolates you sent. The lilies are too gorgeous."

"You are very, very welcome," John assured her. Kissing her one last time, he added, "Have a good night, and happy Valentine's Day."

"Same to you, John." She waved to him as he got in a cab.

* * *

It was 11:30 pm (or thereabouts) when John quietly and tiredly climbed the stairs to the flat. As he came in the door, he stopped, for the scene before him was ridiculous.

Sherlock sat on the sofa , hands pressed together and tucked under his chin in deep concentration. On the table in front of him sat a box of unopened chocolates with a card and a vase of a dozen blood red roses. John could not suppress his groan of despair at his flat mate's methods.

"What _are_ you doing, Sherlock?" he asked tiredly.

"It's a taunt John. A joke. Of course it is," was Sherlock's reply.

"A taunt-oh, Sherlock. Everything is a threat to you. Even a friendly-"

"Moriarty, John. Obviously! He's sending me a reminder on this bloody Hallmark holiday to taunt me and remind me that I am losing!"

John exhaled in exasperation. "Did you read the card?"

"The card-no. No, I did not."

He glanced up from his stare off with the flowers and saw John looking at him as though her were the most idiotic arse in the solar system. Without saying another thing, Sherlock remove the card from the box and opened it.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Happy Valentine's Day! (Pretty sure this is your first)_

_Your Only Friend,_

_John_

There was a long silence.

"Moriarty, huh," John said quietly.

It was a few moments before Sherlock looked up again, and John was certain he detected embarrassment in his friend's eyes.

"Thank you, John," he said at last.

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

Another long pause, during which Sherlock radiated vibes of discomfort.

Then, "I'm sorry, John."

John was able to contain his surprise, but only barely. Sherlock Holmes _apologizing_? This was not something you heard every day.

"It's okay, Sherlock. You don't get people, and I understand that. Don't worry about it."

Then John smiled friendlily. For a couple of seconds Sherlock reciprocated it, Then his attention fell to the bow of chocolates, which he opened delicately.

"You didn't go to Sarah's," he commented as John turned to leave.

He looked up questioningly at Johns laughter.

"I had to prove you wrong," John explained.

It was Sherlock's turn to laugh. "Very good, John."

"Yes, thank you," John chuckled, "g'night, Sherlock." He turned, and on his way up the stairs to his bedroom, he heard Sherlock say after him, "Good night, John."

Grinning and shaking his head, John topped the stairs and shut his bedroom door behind himself.


End file.
